


if we make it through december

by ThatOneGaySlytherin



Category: Love Victor (TV 2020)
Genre: !!!!!!, Aged Up, Alternate Universe - Bakery, Awkward Flirting, Bakery AU, Baking, Christmas, Epilogue, Fluff, Inspired by Hallmark Christmas Movies, M/M, Miscommunication, New Year's Eve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 08:15:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27720089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatOneGaySlytherin/pseuds/ThatOneGaySlytherin
Summary: Benji's heart is still broken, and his bakery is limping through the holiday season, not certain to see the new year. Victor's got his sights set on a promotion at work until Benji catches his eye and makes him consider loosening up, just a little. Just enough.Awkward flirting, pining, and baking ensue.
Relationships: Benjamin "Benji" Campbell/Victor Salazar
Comments: 37
Kudos: 64
Collections: Venji Fic Fests: Winter Holidays 2020





	1. if we make it through december

**Author's Note:**

> I AM SO EXCITED ABOUT THIS! Not much to say beforehand except I hope y'all enjoy <3

The snow’s really coming down.

Gray day, gray world. It’s appropriate, Benji thinks. He’s wiping down the counter for the hundredth time today, perking up at every cold, disgruntled pedestrian going by on the street.

December is supposed to be a boom month for bakeries. But Benji’s business is at an all-time low. It’s not enough to make him worry that the bakery will go under, but it’s enough to make him question if he’ll even be wondering about it come this time next year.

Then again, if this year has taught him anything, it’s not to think too far ahead. Just far enough to get you by.

He’d been with Duncan for…almost three years. He still has to count sometimes when he thinks about it in retrospect. He’d never been counting when they were together. When you think something’s going to last forever, you tend not to focus on numbering the days.

The breakup was nasty, it was yelling and a broken casserole dish and holding each other while they both cried. And it came out of nowhere. Duncan told Benji that it just wasn’t working for him anymore, though he’d given Benji no clues that his happiness was waning. He’d begged Duncan to stay, but as it turned out, Duncan already rented an apartment on the other side of NYC.

Six months have passed since then. Benji’s thrown himself into work, fighting as hard as he can to woo his customers, to build up a network of regulars, to get the word spread around. But it’s NYC. He’s not exactly the only small novelty bakery in the city, and though he’s confident his goods are top tier, there’s only so much that can be done about location and people’s taste.

Regardless, and though today is a slow day, he’s got a pile of pick-up orders in the back that are awaiting their owners. The bakery’s website and social media are its saving graces, and Benji’s focus on the online presence for The Sweet Spot is where a good amount of his profit comes from. He advertises specifically (and loudly) as a queer-friendly establishment and has a lot of queer-themed baked goods; the variety of pride flag cookies are a best-seller, and the fact that The Sweet Spot has a large vegan selection also makes Benji a hit with queer locals.

So maybe a slow season is exactly what Benji needs. Even though he would appreciate any added distraction from the vacuum Duncan created when he left and the impending holidays that he’ll be spending alone for the first time in years, the break from constant baking has been nice.

Mia always tells him he works himself too hard. She’s right, of course. Mia has this annoying and incredible way of always being right. A recent entry into Benji’s life, Mia is his first employee, hired during a short-lived spike in success during which Benji realized he couldn’t run things sufficiently on his own. Mia is an artist, struggling to find traction and settling for cake decorating and cookie sculptures (because that’s a thing now) in the meantime, as well as taking over a lot of their social media responsibilities.

But Mia isn’t here right now, because, as Benji can’t seem to forget, the bakery is completely empty.

He’s about to toss down his towel and go sit in the back when a figure passes by the front window and pushes through the door, a chime ringing through the little shop.

Benji smiles, grateful to have a customer, and then his heart crumbles in his chest.

The man is gorgeous. His dark hair, somewhere between wavy and curly, is tousled from the wind, decorated with specks of snow. Warm brown skin pops against the dreary gray background of the world outside, kind eyes framed by circular glasses. He’s tall, lithe; a messenger bag is slung over his shoulder and a fashionable tan coat hangs down nearly below his knees. He gives Benji a distracted smile—his cell phone is pressed between his cheek and shoulder, and a large cardboard box rests between his hands.

Benji returns the smile, taken aback by the way this man blustered into The Sweet Spot out of the blizzard. “Hi, what can I do for you?” he asks.

The man smiles again and pulls one finger away from the box in his hands to indicate that he needs a moment. Benji nods and picks up the towel, pretending to wipe down the counter again so it doesn’t appear that he’s waiting (which he very much is).

Finally, the man hangs up the phone with a high puff of air and allows the phone to fall from his shoulder and down into the box he’s carrying. “Sorry about that,” he says with a little chuckle. “I’m here to pick up an order.” His voice is a little scratchy, out of breath, as if he’s just walked blocks and blocks in the cold. From the corona of snowflakes nestled in his dark locks, Benji wonders if that might actually be the case.

“Sure thing,” he says, tapping the tablet that serves as his register. It’s been asleep all day, so it takes a moment to start up. “What’s the name?”

“Hmm?” the man asks, stepping forward.

“For the order,” Benji clarifies. “What name is it under?”

“Oh!” the man says with another laugh. The sound is a warm mug in Benji’s hands. “Um. Shit. I’m actually not sure, do you mind if I…” He lifts one knee to cradle the box and fishes his phone out.

“Of course, take your time,” Benji says. “I’ll just head back and see if I can make an educated guess.”

The man gives him a gracious nod and unlocks his phone with a sigh. Benji turns and disappears into the back room.

Victor tries to get a hold of himself as the line rings. This is all Melanie’s fault. She was supposed to be the one who came to pick up these fucking cookies, and she was supposed to bring the decorations, too. Sure, she’s busy, but as busy as Victor? Absolutely fucking not. Nobody is as busy as Victor.

And now this. This…this _man_. Soft eyes, fluffy hair, broad shoulders with a trim waist. And his lips…

“Karina,” indicates a voice on the other end of the line.

Victor groans. “K, is the order under Melanie’s name or yours?”

“Neither. It’s under yours.”

“I—why?”

He can hear her nails clacking against her keyboard. “Because Melanie was never supposed to get the cookies in the first place.”

Victor pauses and grips the box tight, deep breath in through his nose, out through his mouth. “And, pray tell, why the _fuck_ did you pick _me_ to come all the way to fucking _Tribeca_ in a blizzard?”

Karina laughs, her trademark throaty chuckle that Victor is so accustomed to hearing during meetings when they shit talk their superiors. “The blizzard wasn’t part of the plan, Vic. Look, I get that you’ve been stressed out of your mind, but I thought a little excursion could do you some good.”

Victor hangs up. He can practically hear Karina laughing at him from across Manhattan. She’s right, and he hates it.

The man comes back up to the counter, a small smile playing on his lips. “Sorry, I thought I could figure it out, but no dice.”

“All good. It should be under Victor,” he says, forcing a smile. Why is his pulse suddenly kicking up? This guy—Benji is his name; Victor can see the name tag now—is just that. Some _guy_. Why does it matter if he’s hot? Victor has way too much rolling around his brain to be worried about some dreamboat baker. “That’s, uh, my name,” he adds stupidly.

“Got it,” the man says, “I’m pretty sure I saw an order under Victor. I’ll have it right out for you!”

“Thanks so much,” Victor says as his phone starts to ring again. He groans, places the box on the floor, and answers it, sticking the other hand on his hip. His coat is cold and wet against his skin, so he flicks the moisture away and tries the positioning again, this time with his hand under the coat. “Victor Salazar,” he says, trying to sound chipper, breezy.

“Where are you?” Stephen asks.

 _Fuck_. “I’m…in Tribeca,” Victor says carefully. “Karina sent me to get decorations and cookies for the party tonight.”

“Interesting that Karina felt she has the power to ask that of you.” Victor cringes and brings his free hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “More interesting is that you felt you had to listen to her, when organization for the party was supposed to be her task. Did she organize a committee without asking first?”

“No, sir, of course not,” Victor says quickly. “She just had a lot to do today and asked if I could go in her place.”

“Interesting,” Stephen repeats. “From the folder on your desk, as well as the second one that’s just joined it, I would argue that you’ve got quite a bit to do yourself.”

 _Fuck, fuck, FUCK_.

Benji emerges from the back with a large white box and a grin on his face. “Here you are!”

“Look, Stephen, I’m leaving the bakery right now and I’ll be back at the office in a half hour. Forty-five minutes, tops.”

“I would hope so,” Stephen says, and the line goes quiet.

“Fuck,” Victor whispers under his breath, staring down at the floor.

Benji clears his throat. “Uh, everything all right?”

“Hm?” Victor’s head snaps up. “Yes, fine, thank you,” he says, trying for a smile, which feels false on his lips. He steps up to the counter and takes the box.

His fingers brush Benji’s as he accepts the cookies; his breath catches in his throat. He can’t be sure, but it seems like Benji reacts to this too, his eyes widening slightly, brows twitching.

“Appreciate it,” Victor says, lifting the box slightly in thanks.

Benji brushes off his hands with a nod. “Of course. What are the cookies for? If you don’t mind me asking, of course.”

“Not at all! They’re for…an office Christmas party later tonight.” Victor sets the cookies on top of his other box and digs in his pocket for some money. He withdraws a twenty dollar bill, and it’s way too much but he doesn’t have time to fish for a smaller bill, so he hands it to Benji.

“Oh, it’s already paid for—”

“I know. That’s for you,” Victor says, pocketing his wallet and hoisting his burden back up into his arms.

Benji laughs and holds out the money. “That’s incredibly kind, but I can’t take this.”

“Please, take it,” Victor says, right at the borderline of begging.

Benji pauses, looks back and forth between the bill and Victor, then shakes his head a bit and folds it. “All right,” he says.

It might be the light playing tricks on him, but Victor is sure Benji’s eyes are misty. “Thanks again. I should…I should get going.” Since when has he said this many idiotic things in such a short course of time?

“Right. Have fun at your party, Victor,” Benji says and tucks the money gently into his pocket.

 _Not likely_. “Have a good one,” Victor says with a nod. He stands in place for a second, eyes locked on Benji—who looks right back at him—and then he quickly turns and exits the bakery, back out into the squall.

* * *

There’s a plastic cup of eggnog in Victor’s hand and an enormous (fake) smile on his face. He’s standing in a circle with some of the men of the office as Stephen tells a story, something chauvinistically heterosexual. Because he’s on thin ice, he’s laughing when they’re cued to, allowing Harry to elbow him in the ribs like the overgrown frat bro he is, wishing the eggnog were something harder.

Finally the story ends and the men linger for a moment, making small talk, commenting on business. Calvin makes a lewd comment about Jessica, as Calvin is wont to do.

Then, they disperse, off to socialize elsewhere. Victor tags after Stephen, pushing his glasses up on his face.

“Imagine, Salazar, if you will, my surprise when I came to find you at your desk earlier and you were nowhere to be found,” Stephen says, not even looking back at Victor.

Almost tripping over himself, Victor forces down his first choice of words and goes for something that might not get him fired. “I’m _so_ sorry, Stephen. I wasn’t thinking. Won’t happen again.”

“No, it won’t. There will be no more warnings, Victor.”

“Of course not, sir. I completely understand.”

Stephen stops in his tracks; Victor almost bumps into him and spills eggnog onto his own shirt in the process of preventing this collision.

“You’re aware there’s a promotion up for grabs, I assume?” Stephen asks as he turns to Victor.

He has two options here: play coy, pretend he hadn’t heard. No, Stephen will see right through that. So Victor chooses the second option. “I…am aware, yes,” he says, angling his hand to cover the wet spot down his front.

“Good. That’s all. Have a good evening,” Stephen says with a patronizing smile, and then he’s off.

Before Victor can even finish the string of swears under his breath, there’s a hand on his shoulder. He turns around, nearly spilling more of his beverage.

Karina takes a step back. “Whoah there, Vic. Too much eggnog?” Her straight dark hair is pulled back into a sleek ponytail, striking against her cool beige skin.

“Not enough,” Victor growls and throws the rest of it back, lukewarm and creamy and not even close to enough to get him buzzed.

“Follow,” Karina says, grabbing his wrist and pulling him into one of the conference rooms. She closes the door, locks it, then peeks around one of the drawn blinds. Finally, she turns to him. “Are you okay?”

Victor blinks. “I’m fine.”

She takes the cup from him. “You’re a shit liar.”

Karina is Victor’s only real friend at the firm. Both queer, both young, and the only people of color on their floor. She knows him well and isn’t afraid to flaunt that, and while they don’t spend a lot of time together outside the office, that’s mostly because they both spend most of their time together _at_ the office.

“Fine. I’m completely blowing my chances at that fucking promotion, and Stephen is dangling it right in front of my face.”

She sighs and nods, reaching into her pocket and withdrawing two tiny bottles of tequila.

Victor breathes an “Oh my _god_ ,” as she hands one to him, then twists off the cap, knocks the bottle against hers, and takes half of it in one gulp.

“Jesus, Vic,” she says, voice burdened from the burn of the alcohol. “That’s supposed to last you all night.”

“I’m not staying long.”

She sighs and takes a smaller sip. “If you want that promotion, yes you are. You and I both know it’s an ass-kissing contest underneath it all.”

“You’re not suggesting foul play, are you?”

Karina feigns offense. “Gosh, no, Victor. All I’m saying is that those other assholes are gonna elbow you out of the way to get to the front. They don’t give a fuck what anybody thinks of them. For them, it’s all money and power.”

“Exactly. The last thing I want to do is be like them.”

“But you’ve been working your _ass_ off this year, and this quarter especially,” Karina reminds him. “You deserve it more than any of them do, and if getting it means playing a little dirty…”

Victor shakes his head and downs the remainder of his tequila. It burns his throat as he swallows, but the buzz will be worth it. He shakes out his hands, trying to loosen up. “Look, I’m fine with kissing ass,” he says, at which they both snort, “but sabotage? Bribery? There have to be lines, K.”

She shrugs. “Part of me agrees. Part of me really wants to see you rub that promotion in all of their smug faces.”

“He might give it to me,” Victor prods and plops down into one of the chairs around the conference table.

Karina hums and leans against the table. “Yeah. Maybe. Oh, hey! How was the bakery?”

“Fuck you,” Victor says with a chuckle.

“No, I’m serious.”

He frowns at her. “What do you mean?”

“Christ, you are _so_ oblivious sometimes. The guy who owns the place is fine as fuck.”

Victor leans back in his chair and rubs at his temples. “So you sent me out into a blizzard to gawk at an attractive man.”

“Not _look_ at, _meet_.”

He scoffs. “I don’t think I left much of an impression.”

Karina rolls her eyes and takes another sip of tequila, lips curling up away from her teeth. “Have you seen you? You left an impression.”

With a sigh, Victor sits up straighter. “Well, the moment happened and nothing came of it. He…he _was_ cute, though. And there’s something really sweet about him, I guess.”

“Right?”

“ _But_ ,” he continues, “literally the last thing I need right now is to be thinking about dumb romantic endeavors. I’ve been fine on my own for the past ten years, haven’t I?”

“Fucking hell, you’ve been single for _ten year_ s?” Karina gapes at him. “I knew you were loyal to your job, but that’s…”

He’d had a brief and juvenile romance in high school, right after he came out of the closet, but that’s the only real relationship experience he has. There was another guy, once, all too many moons ago. They’d gone on a few dates, clicked pretty well, but he wasn’t able to handle Victor’s busy work schedule. And Victor made a choice, one that he’s never regretted. At least, not all the way.

“Sad? Go ahead, you can say it. It’s sad.”

She smiles apologetically. “No, it’s just…Victor, you’re _hot_. And you’re intelligent, and compassionate, and I could go on. Any guy would be lucky to have someone like you. Plus, I think it might be good for you to…I don’t know, take a little time to do something for _you_.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, K, I really do. But it’s not gonna happen. Plus, what am I supposed to do? Go back and make up some excuse for why I’m there again?”

She widens her eyes and takes another sip.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he says, rubbing at his eyes. “Plus, what if he isn’t even gay?”

Karina gives him one of her patented dead-eye stares. “Honey, he owns a queer bakery. The Sweet Spot is known for, like, pride flag cookies and shit. He’s not straight.”

“Whatever, I am _not_ even thinking about this. And I’m confused: do you want me to get the promotion, or do you want me to lighten up?”

“With a well-placed power move, you could have both—”

He stands suddenly, his hands splayed. “Nope. No dirty shit.” The plastic bottle is warm in his palm.

“Fine. Hey, at least go eat a cookie? They’re genuinely really good.”

Victor nods and hands Karina his empty container. “Fine, I’ll eat a fucking cookie. I did lug them all the way here from Tribeca, after all.”

“Atta boy,” Karina says, downing the remainder of her tequila and pocketing the bottles. “I do have one more for each of us,” she admits with a sharp grin.

“I would be nothing without you,” he says, slinging an arm around her shoulder.

She pokes him in the ribs. “Yeah, I know. We should get back out there, huh?”

“Yeah,” he says with a groan. “What time is it?”

“Just after six.”

“I hate it here.”

“Hey, it’s gonna be fine. You’re gonna be fine. You always are.”

She’s right. Victor’s always fine. He always has to be.

They exit the conference room, the aftertaste of tequila still sizzling at the back of Victor’s throat. Karina squeezes his shoulder and finds Melanie in the crowd—Victor really can _not_ stand Melanie, why the hell is Karina friends with her?—and he finds himself in front of the concessions table.

At the far end, a large ceramic plate covered with cookies. It’s an eclectic mixture: classics like chocolate chip and snicker doodles, sugar cookies frosted with colorful designs, and some slightly deeper cuts like white chocolate cranberry, s’mores, and salted caramel toffee.

Victor decides to play it safe and go with a chocolate chip cookie. Nobody can make a _bad_ chocolate chip cookie.

He raises it to his lips and takes an enthusiastic bite. Typically, Victor limits sweets as much as he can, so this is a bit of a special occasion.

As he chews, the flavors burst on his taste buds. The chocolate isn’t too sweet, a nice bitterness cutting through the buttery dough. There’s definitely cinnamon, but there’s a strange deepness to it, a creaminess that Victor wasn’t expecting.

It’s not the best cookie he’s ever eaten, but it’s also not warm. He wonders…

Victor glances around, satisfied that everyone is sufficiently distracted, then takes the remainder of the cookie into the break room. He places it on a small paper plate and pops it in the microwave, just for ten seconds.

When he opens the door, the smell is intoxicating. He can already see that the chocolate chips are melty again, just as they should be, and the cookie has softened considerably. Carefully, he breaks off a large piece and pops it into his mouth.

 _Oh. Oh no_.

He’s starting to wonder if Karina’s made some valid points. Maybe another visit to The Sweet Spot is in order, diet be damned.

* * *

Benji pushes through the door to his shitty little apartment, ears and nose raw and red from the storm that continues to howl through the streets of New York. Inside is dark, quiet, cold. Lonely.

He peels his coat away from his body and hangs it on its hook, snow already melting and pooling on the floor beneath it.

It’s been a long day.

Aside from his chance encounter with that attractive stranger, everything was business as usual. One of his orders neglected to show, even after he called two different numbers and sent a follow-up email. It’s not a huge deal; all of the pickup orders for The Sweet Spot are paid for ahead of time, but what a waste of perfectly good cupcakes.

He listens for the patter of tiny feet, just as he still does every evening. Duncan took the cat with him when he left—Giselle technically belonged to him, after all—and Benji hasn’t had it in him to adopt a new one since they departed. Mia constantly tells him that a pet would assuage some of his loneliness, but part of him is terrified that he wouldn’t be able to take care of another being. Taking care of himself is hard enough these days.

Though he’s always preferred to shower at night, Benji has been forced to wait until mornings, wait until there’s daylight. Turning lights on is expensive, after all. That, or shower in the dark.

Benji recalls the bill in his pocket and he withdraws it, holding it in front of his face. The number 20 is so bright in the gloom. He keeps telling his family and the few friends he has that everything is fine, but now he’s standing alone in his apartment and crying over a 20-dollar bill. So.

He unravels the scarf from his neck and tosses it aside, so exhausted that he can’t be bothered to hang it up. There’s a half-spent candle on the kitchen counter that he relies on for light after the sun sets, so he lights it and carries it into his bedroom.

It’s not that he absolutely couldn’t afford to turn a light on now and again, but he hardly spends any waking hours at home anyway, and he’s much more comfortable with the assurance that rent will get paid on time. The utilities for the bakery are much more expensive, and he can’t exactly keep the lights off there.

Benji carefully sets the candle on his nightstand, the cheap scent of pine already filling the space. He used to love the holidays. Duncan was such a fan of the final two weeks of the year, always going all out from Christmas until New Year’s Eve. His absence makes it all seem pointless.

He’s almost drifting off the sleep when his phone comes to life in his pocket. With a little jolt, he sits up and drags it out. Mia’s calling.

“Hello?” he answers, voice groggy.

“Hi! Are you home yet?”

Benji swallows down a yawn and nods, then chuckles to himself when he remembers Mia can’t actually see him. “Yeah, I just got here. How was your day off?”

“It was boring, honestly. I think I’ve taken for granted the sweet monotony of decorating a hundred cookies to look exactly the same.”

Rising from his bed, Benji starts to remove his clothes. There have been too many mornings in recent history when he’s woken up in his outfit from the previous day.

“Anything interesting happen?”

He almost trips out of his pants, trying to hold the phone in one hand as he pulls them off his legs with the other. “Nothing groundbreaking. Someone forgot to come pick up an order.”

“Ah, shit. I know you hate when that happens.”

“Well, they paid for it, so…”

Mia sighs on the other end of the line. “You know we’re gonna make it through this, right? The social media following is still going strong. Queer people love fancy vegan baked goods.”

“Yeah, I guess,” he mutters, now struggling to slide into his comfiest pair of sweatpants. “It just sucks. The holidays are supposed to be good for business. If things drop off anymore and we hit an even drier spell…” Well, The Sweet Spot will be unequivocally fucked, to put it lightly.

“Stop thinking like that,” Mia warns him, not for the first time. “We’re manifesting success in the new year, yeah?”

Benji sets his phone down, removes his shirt, and flops onto his bed. “Right. Success. Everything is going to be fine.” There’s a pause, during which Benji decides to say something stupid. “There was a hot guy who came in to pick up an order.”

“Oh?” Mia is immediately more invested in the conversation. “Hot how?”

 _What kind of question is that?_ “I don’t know. He was just hot. Not really my type though. Well, I mean, physically he was. But he seemed like a real corporate snob. He was on the phone the whole time, his order was for an office party, that kind of thing.”

“More of a one-time thing, then.”

Benji rolls over with a huff. “You know that’s not my style. Besides, I don’t really know if I got the vibes from him.”

“Um. I mean. He did order cookies from a known queer bakery.”

“He told me he wasn’t the one who placed the order.”

“Oh, so you spoke?”

“Minimally. He told me his name because it was on the order, and then he forced a tip on me and left.”

Mia sucks in a high breath. “He _tipped_ you? How much?”

“Does it matter?”

“Well, yeah. If it was a crumpled up single then fuck him. I mean, not literally.”

Benji pauses. “It was a twenty.”

“Jesus. Was his number written on it?”

“Not that I noticed.” He’d already studied the bill, wondering the same thing for himself. Stupidly, hopelessly wondering. “I think he just felt bad that he was such a wreck when he came in.”

“Huh. Well, at least he was nice to look at?”

“That he was.”

“B, you sound exhausted. I’m gonna hang up now and see you tomorrow.”

He pouts, even though he knows he should get some sleep. “Okay. Thanks for checking in, Mia. I appreciate it.”

“To be honest, I was just bored,” she says, but then she laughs. “I’m kidding. I worry about you sometimes. One time I walked past your apartment at like seven and it was completely dark. You’re not going home to a cave, are you?”

“Maybe a little,” he admits. “It costs money to turn lights on.”

“Benjamin. Don’t tell me you live like a fucking mole person to avoid paying a light bill.”

“Goodnight, Mia!” he sing-songs into the phone. “See you in the morning!”

“Yeah, this conversation isn’t over. Night, love.”

The phone goes quiet. Benji sighs and places his phone on his bare chest, scrubbing his hands over his eyes. He should really brush his teeth, floss, maybe cleanse his face if he has any wash left. He _should_. But the flickering light of the candle is throwing familiar shadows across the walls and his eyelids are heavy, so he allows his eyes to close as sleep takes over.

* * *

The following morning, after Mia has given Benji a thorough talking to regarding his refusal to turn on lights in his apartment, they fall into a familiar routine. It’s still snowing outside, but the previous day’s blizzard has lightened to a delicate dusting.

While there are a few customers early on, a few familiar faces who often stop in for a fresh bagel or a muffin on their way to work, the pace is relatively slow again. Benji heeds Mia’s words, tries to be optimistic and manifest more business come February, but sitting at the register for an hour between each purchase gives him plenty of time to consider worst case scenarios.

Not until almost closing time does the day take an interesting turn. Mia is in the back, preparing a last-minute pickup order, when the man from the day before comes through the door, looking bashful.

Benji perks up immediately, checking his posture, grateful he’s already chewing a piece of spearmint gum. “Oh,” he says, hoping it isn’t too strange that he immediately recognizes the man. “Welcome back! Uh…Victor, was it?”

The taller man chuckles as he approaches the counter and ruffles his hair; flecks of snow drift around him and seem to disappear in the warm air. “Yeah, that’s me.” His glasses have fogged up due to the transition into the warmth, so he removes them and makes an attempt to wipe them clear on his coat. “I have, um, another party that I’d like some cookies for.”

“That’s great! Did you order ahead again?”

Victor frowns. “No, that…that would’ve been smart though, wouldn’t it?”

“That’s okay,” Benji says with a laugh. Why is he laughing? “When do you need it by?”

“Tonight, I guess?” Victor says. He brings his hand to the back of his neck and looks at the ground.

“Well, when’s the party?”

Victor returns his gaze to Benji and blinks at him. “Right. It’s tonight.”

“You don’t sound sure,” Benji says.

“I’m sure, it’s tonight,” Victor insists with a nervous chuckle.

Benji holds up his hands. “Okay, we can work with that. How many people?”

“A few…”

“A few.”

“Yeah, it’s sort of like a casual thing, I guess, so I don’t know the exact number.”

Fighting a smile, Benji nods. “More or less than ten?”

“Less. Definitely less.”

“Perfect. We can do a box of twenty cookies, if that works? Two cookies per person is usually a good starting point.”

Victor taps his foot and glances around for a second. “What about just ten?”

“Do you think people are only going to eat one cookie apiece?”

“Maybe. My friends are all sort of, uh, health freaks.”

“We have vegan options, too. They’re definitely still cookies, but they’re not quite as calorie-heavy.”

Victor bites his lip and heat rises to Benji’s cheeks; luckily the other man also seems strangely distracted. “Sure, let’s go with that, then. But still only ten.”

“Fifteen,” Benji pushes.

“Fine, fifteen,” Victor concedes with a sheepish smile. He runs a hand through his hair and steps up to the display case, leaning down to get a better look. “Do you have any recommendations?”

“The vegan chocolate chip are always good. We have a funfetti birthday cake cookie that people tend to like.” His mouth goes dry as he speaks his next suggestion. “We’re also well known for our pride flag cookies. I don’t know what kind of crowd it is…”

“Oh, uh, um,” Victor says, his eyes darting around the cookies. It seems to Benji he’s trying to look anywhere but the rainbow frosted flags. “I think chocolate chip should be good.”

“Yeah, okay,” Benji says, disappointment rising in his chest. “You just want all fifteen of the same?”

Victor straightens and nods. “Yeah, that should be fine.”

“Perfect, let me just grab a box for you,” Benji says, spinning quickly and rushing into the back, where Mia is hunched over a work bench, piping frosting onto a cookie.

She looks up at the disturbance, but her smile falters when she sees how flustered Benji is. “Whoah, everything all right?”

“It’s him,” Benji says, breathless, as he reaches up to a high shelf where they keep the empty boxes. “The guy from yesterday.”

“What?” Mia says, jumping up. She makes for the front, but Benji sticks out his arm.

“Can you not be so obvious, please?”

She glares at him. “I work here, it’s not weird if I do my job.”

“You don’t deal with customers.”

“ _He_ doesn’t know that.”

Benji sets the box down on the counter and unfolds it, sliding the flaps into their slots. “Just let me take care of this, okay? I don’t think there’s a possibility anyway.”

“A possibility…”

“That he’s queer,” Benji whispers. “I tossed out a suggestion about the pride flag cookies and he seemed very…I don’t know, he seemed very _something_ about it.”

Mia rolls her eyes and pushes past him, peeking into the front of the store. When she turns back to Benji, her mouth is open. “He’s fucking sexy.”

“Stop!” Benji says, failing to conceal a laugh. “I know this, you are not telling me anything new.”

“No, seriously, if men were my thing at all—”

“Mia.”

She holds up her hands in surrender. “I’m not trying to steal him from you.”

“Lake wouldn’t be too happy, I imagine.”

“Mm, she’d manage. Okay, but seriously. You’ve gotta make a move or something. Flirt a little.”

“Did you miss the part where I just informed you of the unfortunate lack of the _vibe_?” Benji asks, bending his wrist to make his point clear.

Mia places her hands on her hips. “He’s in a queer bakery for the second day in a row and that doesn’t give you any _vibes_?”

“Well, we’re not an exclusively queer bakery,” Benji says. In the course of their conversation he’s constructed and deconstructed the box three times. “Just because our marketing is heavy on that doesn’t mean straight people won’t come here. Plus, someone else placed the previous order. Maybe he’s just back because he couldn’t think of another bakery. That would be pretty straight of him.”

“This is the dumbest argument I’ve heard in a long time, Benji. Just flirt with the guy and see what happens. He came back, after all. At the very least, that means he liked the cookies enough to want more.”

Benji sighs and pops the box into place one last time before shaking out his hands and plastering a smile on his face. He brushes past Mia and back out front, where Victor has his thumb raised to his mouth. When he notices that Benji’s returned, he quickly pulls it away.

“Sorry about that, we had a little issue in the back,” Benji lies. “So, fifteen vegan chocolate chip?”

“Right, that’s perfect,” Victor says. Benji isn’t sure if it’s the transition from cold to warm that has Victor’s cheeks rosy or…something else.

He chastises himself as he grabs the tongs and starts to pile cookies into the box. Even though there was a small (but loud) part of him that was naively hoping Victor would come back, he’s in no position to be thinking about romance. Not with the bakery struggling the way it is, not with the remnants of Duncan still hanging around like powdered sugar in the air.

And yet, another part of him is wondering if Victor’s “party” is real. Would that be crazy? And why would this man construct a fake event just to come back to The Sweet Spot?

Benji’s overthinking. He’s always been good at that. He places the fifteenth cookie in the box, then throws in a sixteenth. “So, how did the office party go?” he asks as he closes the box and peels a sticker off their large roll.

Victor sighs. “It was a disaster. I almost spilled eggnog on my boss, who’s already on my ass for a bunch of bullshit reasons, and there’s this really important promotion that I’m gunning for but all of the other assholes in the office play dirty and are leagues ahead of me in terms of consideration, so…” He runs a hand through his hair and huffs a laugh. “Shit, sorry, I didn’t mean to unload like that. It’s been a rough week.”

“Sounds like it,” Benji says. “What do you do?”

“Accounting.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Benji slaps the sticker on the box and hands it to Victor. “Does he like cookies?”

Victor takes the box and cocks an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“Your boss. I know you said it isn’t your style, but a little bribe never hurt anyone. Plus, I’m sure it’s nothing compared to what some of those other guys have done.”

With a frown ( _an adorable frown, oh god_ ), Victor tucks the box under his arm. “Yeah, maybe. He might go for that. I don’t know.”

Benji shrugs. “Just a suggestion. I basically bribe-baked my way through college.”

Victor laughs at this, though Benji wasn’t really trying to be funny. Victor then reaches in his pocket and pulls out his wallet.

“You know what? Don’t worry about it,” Benji says, then immediately regrets it. The last thing he should be doing right now is giving out freebies.

“Come on,” Victor says, tilting his head. “Let me pay for the cookies.”

“You already did,” Benji shoots back. “That tip yesterday just about covers it.”

Victor shakes his head and procures a credit card. “I’m paying. How much?”

With a shake of his head, Benji indicates the price on the tablet. Victor swipes his card through the cube plug-in and Benji rotates the tablet so Victor can sign.

“Well, have fun tonight,” Benji says once the transaction has gone through.

“What? Oh, right, the party. Whoo!” Victor says, and Benji can’t tell if he’s being sardonic or badly forcing enthusiasm. “Yeah, can’t…can’t wait.”

There’s a pause during which the two men just look at each other, similar to the pause that occurred the day previous.

“Um. Yeah. Thanks again. See you around,” Victor blurts, and then he practically runs out the door. The sound of the door chime has never been so sad.

“Holy fucking shit,” Mia says, suddenly right behind Benji.

He yelps and turns to her. “Were you listening to all of that?”

“Of course I was. The man _totally_ made up that party, you know.”

“You can’t be sure of that.”

Mia looks at her nails, her face smug. “Not one hundred percent, no. But it sounded like a lot of bullshit to me.”

“Whatever. That’s his business. Sometimes you just want to eat a whole box of cookies and not be judged for it.”

“Or, _or_ , consider: he’s super into you.”

Benji waves her off. “It doesn’t matter. It’s stupid to hope, anyway.”

“Well that’s just cynical.”

“I’m not ready yet, okay?” he snaps.

Mia takes a step away. “Okay,” she echoes gently. “That’s fair. I get it. I would just hate for you to miss an opportunity because you’re still hung up on that asshole.”

“I’m not _hung up_ on him,” Benji says, trying his best not to get angry. Mia’s only trying to help. “If Lake dumped you out of the blue, do you think you would be fine, even half a year later?”

“No, I guess not.”

Benji shrugs. “It would be different if he were explicitly showing interest, but he’s not. All I’m saying is I don’t have the energy to speculate right now. Men have disappointed me enough this year, and I don’t want to build this guy up in my head and then get let down because I wanted him to be something he’s not.”

“No, yeah, that’s completely fair,” Mia says. “But if he comes back…”

“Do we have to speak in hypotheticals?”

“ _If_ he comes back,” she repeats, “then that means something, and I think you should reconsider your stance if that ends up being the case. That’s all.”

“Fine. If he comes back…I don’t know. He won’t though. Or if he does, it’ll just be for another work thing. You heard him, he’s super busy.”

“Mm-hmm.” She pats his shoulder as she disappears again, off to finish icing cookies.

Benji looks out at the empty store, then reaches into his pocket and pulls out the twenty-dollar bill from the day before. He studies it for a moment, then folds it and places it carefully back into his pocket.

* * *

Victor sits at the island in his kitchen, the light pure white around him. His apartment is perfectly clean, sterile, just like every fucking thing in his life.

Except for this box of cookies sitting in front of him. They must have been fairly fresh when Benji boxed them for him, so the inside of the box is spotted with little bits of oil and melted dark chocolate.

He hasn’t even eaten dinner yet, but the smell wafting out of the box is extremely tempting. Why the hell did he buy so many cookies? Is he supposed to actually eat all of these himself? And what, just to see the dreamy man who owns the bakery? Victor doesn’t need ridiculous distractions like this on his mind, especially not now, not with this promotion hovering just out of arm’s reach.

And not only did he buy fifteen cookies, but fifteen _vegan_ cookies. They probably won’t even be as good.

But he has to test that, of course. So he reaches into the box and pulls one out, holding it up to the harsh light.

Victor pushes it to his lips and takes an exploratory bite.

 _Oh, goddamn it._ The cookie is incredible. If he didn’t know it was vegan, he wouldn’t guess it. He’s supposed to be cutting back and carbs and sugars right now, but before he can stop himself the rest of the cookie is in his mouth. He rests his elbows on the table as he chews, his head in his hands. It takes all of his strength not to unhinge his jaw and tip the box into his mouth; the cookie is _that_ good. Plus, he’s seen the hands that created it, who they’re attached to.

Wait. No. He’s not going there. He can’t.

And yet, he _did_. In almost every sense of the phrase, he went there. He physically went back to the bakery, lying about a private get-together as an excuse to see this Benji guy. He allowed himself to wonder what would happen if he were a bit bolder, if he heeded Karina’s words and did something for himself for once. And he followed through on his order and even let Benji talk him into buying _more_ cookies.

Victor paws through the box, absently counting the cookies as he mopes, wondering if it might be a wise idea to repackage some of them and try to pass them off as some kind of gift for Stephen. That’s innocuous enough, right? Plenty of people get a gift for their boss around the holidays. Or is that only ever a subtle way to butter them up?

Wait. Victor pays more attention as he counts the rest of the cookies. Fifteen. But he’d just eaten one. He counts again, and then one more time just to be safe. There are still fifteen cookies in the box.

This could mean two things. One, Benji counted incorrectly. Two, Benji had purposefully slipped Victor an extra.

He pulls another cookie out of the box, holds it in front of his face with a trembling hand.

Then Victor screams and hurls the cookie against the nearest wall. It smacks the surface and erupts into pieces that scatter around the kitchen floor, the chunks golden against the spotless white tile.

 _Fuck_. Why does it even matter? Why the hell had he gone back in the first place? Just to lead on this poor guy, hook his interest and then inevitably lose it when Benji realizes just how involved Victor is with his job. He swears to himself as he pushes out of his chair and collects the crumbs from the floor, his hands still shaking.

It’s in this moment he knows. He’s not getting that promotion. No way in hell. Even after a year of busting his ass, taking initiative, letting his work ethic speak for him. Even after ruining basically every friendship he has. It was all for nothing.

Victor presses down on the tiny lever attached to his trash can and tosses the ruined cookie inside. After brushing the remaining crumbs from his palms, he steps back and presses the heel of his hand between his eyes, just above his glasses.

 _Come on, Victor, get it together. Don’t think like that_.

What would Karina say if she were here? Well, she would try again to convince him to play dirty. That’s just not going to happen. Any victory would only taste bitter if he has to cheat to achieve it.

And so what if he doesn’t get it? He still makes plenty of money. He’s comfortable, at the very least, and he’s never worried about making ends meet.

He sits down again, dragging a bottle of expensive bourbon across the counter. He should really get up and pour himself a glass, but fuck it. Victor unscrews the lid and raises it to his mouth, throwing back a sizable gulp. It actually pairs nicely with the lingering taste of the cookie. He takes one more sip then caps the bottle, pushing it away. The last thing he needs is to wake up hungover.

So maybe he has some reflection to do. Maybe it’s time to get back into the dating game, try a different strategy for this new year. He watches the snow flutter by outside, the city lights shining against the flakes. What he has now…is this happiness? If someone asked Victor if he were a happy person, would he have a good answer? A truthful one?

Okay, his head’s in a bad place. He closes the box of cookies, imagining a world in which he actually _was_ buying them for a party. Two years ago, four, he still had enough friends for that to be plausible. Now, there are fewer people than fingers on his right hand that would readily answer if he called.

Victor pulls out his phone, his thumb hesitating over the ‘call’ button. It’s already been an off night, though, so why not just go for it and see what happens?

He presses it to his ear and it rings once, twice, three times, and then she picks up.

“Hello?” Pilar says, her voice full of concern. “Victor?”

“Hi, Pilar.”

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” he says, and then a wave of guilt splashes up into his face. Are his calls really so infrequent that she assumes the worst when she hears from him? “I just wanted to check in.”

She exhales, the relief obvious. “Okay, thank god. It’s just…well, you know.”

And he does know, but he doesn’t want to admit it. “How are you?” he deflects.

“I’m good,” she says. “A little busy, but good busy. What about you, how are things?”

Victor sighs. “Honestly, I don’t even know. I feel like this is the first time all year I’ve actually taken a look around and wondered what I’m doing with my life.”

“Oh,” she says, then pauses. “Is that a bad thing?”

“Well, yes and no. For the last couple of years, I _really_ thought I knew exactly what my path was. It all seemed so clear, and then I think I got tunnel vision and the path was all I could see. But now I’m wondering if some things got…lost along the way.”

“And that’s why you called me. Because you feel guilty that you live a fifteen minute train ride away and I haven’t seen you in almost a year.” Pilar is working under a popular fashion designer just across Manhattan. They live in the same city and Victor hasn’t seen her since March.

The words are harsh, but they’re also the truth, which is what Victor needs. “Yes, Pilar. And I’m so sorry about that.”

“I did try to call _you_ a couple of times, you know. But after the fourth voicemail I left, I figured it wasn’t worth the breath. Probably just taking up space in your mailbox.”

“Look, I’m trying to apologize to you here.”

“I’m aware. _I’m_ trying to make sure you’re aware what it is you’re apologizing _for_.” She huffs. “What brought this on, anyway?”

Technically, the answer is a beautiful man and his delicious cookies, but Victor doesn’t think that information is going to land well in this moment. “I don’t know. I guess I’ve just been really lonely. I thought I could fill that void by throwing myself into work, but all that’s done is make me feel miserable.”

“Well, I’m sorry to hear that,” she says. She sounds genuine. “Do you have any time off coming up? I would love to get lunch together and catch up.”

He hesitates, which earns him a groan.

“Seriously, Vic? It’s the holidays and you can’t take an afternoon off?”

“I’ll check my schedule, okay? I promise. Lunch sounds great, but…”

“Yeah. But.”

There’s a tense silence; a clock ticks from the other room and the halogen light above hums. “I’ll let you know, okay?” Victor says, tears stinging his eyes.

“Okay. I hope you figure some things out, Victor. You do deserve to be happy, you know, even despite all of the people you’ve missed out on trying to chase success.”

“Thanks, Pilar. That means a lot.”

She sighs. “Of course. I’ve always looked up to you, and even though I think corporate Victor is kind of a douche, I can tell that my big brother is still underneath all of that somewhere. You just need to find something to bring him back out.”

“I’ll let you go now,” Victor says, resting his chin on his hand. “Thanks for not declining my call.”

“Just know I considered it,” she says, but there’s humor in her voice, and just that tells Victor that there’s a chance things will be okay. “Love you.”

“Love you, too,” Victor says.

He sets down his phone, the silence around him oppressive. He looks at the box of sweets, considers how much he’ll hate himself in the morning, then still decides to open it back up and devour not one, not two, but _three_ additional cookies. Victor cries as he eats the third one, just to get it out. He hasn’t cried in…well, he can’t remember the last time he cried, but he figures if he’s shoveling cookies into his body, he’s got to get rid of _something_ to make room for them.

Victor closes the box, self-control finally kicking in. Would it even matter if he ate the whole box? They’re good cookies, and he paid for them, and even though he’s crying, he’s also savoring the sweetness, remembering times his mother would enlist his help in her baking endeavors. She was always a bit hopeless in the kitchen, but somehow that made everything taste better. It was always made with love, with care, with a real desire to create something delicious.

Right now, if anything, he just regrets panicking and asking for fifteen of the same kind of cookie. He wants to try every flavor, to throw caution and discipline to the wind and actually let himself enjoy something for once in his fucking life.

He eyes his phone. _It’s tempting, oh so tempting…_

Victor picks it up and makes a call. There’s no answer, so he leaves a message. “Hi Stephen, it’s Victor. I just wanted to let you know that I’m taking the rest of the week off. Christmas shopping and holiday preparations and all of that. I haven’t used a single one of my paid days off all year, so I trust that won’t be an issue. Talk soon!”

He hangs up, his whole body vibrating. For good measure, he eats one more cookie, then leaves the kitchen and crawls into bed. For the first time in months and months, he turns off his alarm.

That night, Victor has the best damn sleep of his life.

* * *

It hasn’t stopped snowing for three days. It feels appropriate given that Christmas is only a week away, but it certainly doesn’t make navigating the city as magical or festive as the movies lead you to believe. Enormous snowdrifts, puddles of slush, spontaneous gusts of wind that send white crystals careening into your face.

So maybe Benji’s holiday cheer is a bit tarnished this year. But there’s a fresh batch of one of his favorite kinds of cookies—coffee shortbread—baking in the back, and the scent lifts his spirits considerably. Mia is locked away in the back as she often is, piping on decorations and avoiding social interaction.

The day has only truly begun, though Benji’s been at the bakery for a few hours. Again, he made some sales to regulars, a few new faces. Typical breakfast fare, which always includes a few cake pops because somehow Starbucks has conditioned people to believe cake pops are breakfast food.

Now it’s nearing eleven and Benji’s eyes are already threatening to close as he stands at the abandoned register. He hadn’t slept well last night; he was tossing and turning, unable to stop thinking about this man—this _Victor_ —who he’s convinced himself he’ll probably never see again.

Which is why Benji snaps awake when Victor strides into the bakery. It’s like he’s taken espresso powder straight to the nose.

Victor looks…different. And though Benji has only encountered him twice at this point, it’s so striking that he can’t deny it. For one, his clothes are more comfortable, not the kind of outfit one would wear to a corporate job in the city. Dark green cable-knit sweater, well-tailored jeans, and a pair of boots that are definitely not meant for snow. All of this under the same long coat Benji’s seen him in before.

It’s his demeanor, too, that’s different. He’s not out of breath, not bursting into the bakery and carrying in the storm from behind him. He seems calm. Cheerful, even, but cautiously so.

Benji clears his throat. “Um, hi,” he says as Victor approaches the counter. “You’re…you’re back?”

“Yeah, I’m back,” Victor says and averts his eyes. “I, uh…was having a craving, I guess.”

All of the hope Benji had struggled so hard to tamp down springs up again. His excuses are getting more and more vague. “For anything in particular?”

Victor crouches all the way down, elbows on his knees and chin resting on his folded hands. Benji takes the opportunity to breathe deeply and tries not to bore holes into Victor’s face with his eyes as the other man considers.

“Honestly, I don’t know,” Victor says after a long moment. He rises. “To be completely truthful, the other day was a first time in a long time I’d eaten a cookie.”

Benji’s jaw drops. “How long?”

“I don’t know. Long enough that I can’t remember the last time. They’re just…empty calories,” Victor says, frowning. Then, quickly, he adds, “But don’t get me wrong! Your cookies are fantastic! Which is why I, uh, want more. I’m sort of trying this thing where I let myself do things just because they make me feel good.” He adjusts his glasses and fidgets with the hem of his coat. “You…probably didn’t need to hear all of that.”

“No, it’s okay,” Benji says with a little smile. “It’s been a slow day. It just blows my mind when sweets aren’t an integral part of other people’s lives, I guess. I’m pretty sure I eat _some_ kind of baked good every day.”

Victor’s brow furrows and he tilts his head. “Really? But you’re so…”

“So _what_?” Benji asks, his heart flipping.

After clearing his throat, Victor shrugs. “I don’t know. I just wouldn’t expect it, I guess.”

“All things in moderation,” Benji mutters. Had that been an attempt at flirting? Is he reading into things, projecting his desire onto this endearingly awkward man in his bakery? “Anyway, are you looking for suggestions again?”

“Yeah, that would be nice,” Victor says, flashing Benji a grin. “You’re the expert, after all.”

Fighting the heat in his cheeks, Benji smiles back. “Well, we have a fresh batch of coffee shortbread cookies that just came out of the oven, I think. We dip them in melted white chocolate and then sprinkle them with espresso power.”

Victor’s eyes go a little wide. “Oh, man, that sounds really good. They just came out of the oven?”

“Yeah, you’d be getting them fresh,” Benji says, trying not to laugh at the wonder on Victor’s face. “We have to let them cool enough so the chocolate hardens, but they’ll still be warm and soft.”

“Um, yes, please,” Victor says. His Adam’s apple bobs as he nods his head. “Just ten of those would be good.”

Benji gives him a thumbs-up, immediately feels stupid, and scurries into the back.

Mia is already smirking. “What did I tell you?”

“I can’t fucking believe this,” Benji says, leaning against the counter. He gazes off into the corner of the room for a moment, trying to let reality soak in. “You haven’t talked to him right? It’s not possible he’s actually here for you?”

She rolls her eyes but doesn’t take her attention away from dunking the shortbread into warm white chocolate. “I wasn’t here the first day, you hopeless, hopeless man. He’s here for you,” she says, laughing to herself.

“Wow,” he breathes. “He wants ten of the coffee shortbread, by the way.”

“I heard. The sound carries, you know. I’ve already got a special one prepared, too.”

Benji frowns, yanked out of his reverie. “Special how?”

“Look for yourself,” she says, pointing to the tray where she’s situating the cookies once the excess dunking chocolate has dripped off and the coating’s hardened.

Benji leans over the tray, eyes scanning the cookies for something discordant from Mia’s near carbon-copy decorating skills. Then, in the bottom left hand corner, he spots a cookie with figures scrawled delicately in black on top of the white chocolate.

Not just figures. Numbers. His phone number.

“Really, Mia?”

She just hums and continues to decorate.

“This is so corny.”

“But it’ll work, and you don’t even have to say anything. Just slip it in the box with the others and wait.”

Benji hums. “I do like the thought of foregoing an awkward situation where I ask for his number and find out this has all been some misunderstanding.”

Mia stands up straight and cocks her head. “Which isn’t the case. But I understand how your mind works, beautiful and chaotic as it is. So give him the damn cookie and then when he calls, I’ll even swallow my ‘told you so’ and just be happy for you.”

With a sigh, Benji reaches for a small box and pops it into formation. “Fine. At this point I really am inclined to believe you, but…” He starts to carefully layer cookies into the white cardboard, then rests the one with his phone number on top of the pile. “I know I should be trying to get back in the game, but I really don’t think I can handle another heartbreak right now. Even a small one. Not with the bakery struggling the way it—”

Mia raises a hand to his face. “Hey, look at me. If you really don’t want to do this, you don’t have to. It’s okay to take more time. You’re a catch, and there will always be another hot mess of a stranger to court.”

Benji lays one of his hands over hers. “Yeah, I guess that’s true,” he says with a little chuckle. “Well, the cookie’s already in the box, so. Might as well. What’s the worst that can happen? He doesn’t call me and I never see him again? I only met him two days ago.”

“We both know it isn’t as simple as that,” she says with a little smile and withdraws her hand. “But I think, no matter what, you’ll find a way to make it through.”

He nods, gives Mia a final smile, then returns to the front of the store.

Victor is at the window, facing away. Watching the flurry, it seems.

“Uh, order up!” Benji says. He has just enough time to smack himself on the forehead while Victor startles and turns around.

As he approaches the counter, Benji tries to conceal the trembling of his hands as he seals up the box with a sticker. “Just be careful, we probably could’ve let them cool a little bit longer before dipping them in the chocolate but…it seemed like you were really looking forward to some fresh cookies.”

“Yeah, I think I’ll manage,” Victor says, pulling a few napkins out of the dispenser on the counter. “I’m usually super averse to making a mess. Today, I don’t think I care too much.”

Benji nods and hands Victor the box. “That’s good. A little mess never hurt anybody. Plus, you can always just clean up—”

“And you can always just clean it up—”

They both laugh at their simultaneous sentiment, high, nervous giggles. Benji hasn’t laughed like this since he first started dating Duncan. There’s a moment, a brief, terrifying moment when he almost leans over the counter and snatches the box out of Victor’s hands. That fucking cookie inside is a culinary time bomb, and he’s not sure he’s ready for the blast. If it even detonates. Because everything seems to come back to Duncan, every smile, every laugh, every gesture. He’s all Benji can think of.

But then Victor tucks the box under the crook of his arm and sighs out of his laughter, running a hand through his snow-damp hair. “So, how much is it?”

“Right! Payment! We’re doing, uh, a Christmas special for the next week, so they’re only a dollar each.”

Victor frowns. “Oh, all right.”

“Is that…okay?” Benji asks.

“I mean, for me it’s great. But, and I’m sorry if this is overstepping, but don’t you think it might be a better idea to _increase_ your prices around the holidays? Because of high demand and stuff?”

Benji drums his fingers against the counter, ducking his head. “Yeah, so, the thing about that is we _don’t_ really have a high demand currently. Things are a little…slow.”

“Ah, I get it. Sorry,” Victor says and fumbles with his wallet. “In that case, charge me full price.”

His attention snaps back to the man. “What? No, it’s fine.”

“And _I’m_ saying it’s fine,” Victor says, raising his eyebrows slightly. “Trust me, I’ve got it. Support local businesses and all that, right?”

Benji chuckles and removes the discount from the transaction. “I guess so.”

Victor swipes his card, signs, and takes a small step back.

For a split second, it looks like he’s going to say something, the tip of his tongue perched delicately between his lips (which Benji can’t seem to stop staring at), but the moment passes.

Something like disappointment, like relief, inflates inside Benji. But he can’t help but notice a kind of disappointment on Victor’s face as well.

“So. Thanks for the cookies,” he says.

“Of course. That’s what we’re here for.”

Victor nods. “I, uh…yeah. I don’t know if I’ll be back anytime soon,” he says, grabbing his left shoulder with his free hand. “Probably shouldn’t make a habit of buying entire boxes of cookies for myself.”

“Oh. Yeah, I get it,” Benji says with a nervous bark of laughter. Part of him wants to say something more, maybe even ask Victor to come back, to stay, to see Benji in another setting. But the cookie. It’s in the box, and something about its existence stops Benji from opening his mouth. “I hope you have a nice holiday. You celebrate?”

“Christmas? Oh, yeah. My family’s always been pretty big on it. We’re all sort of doing our own thing this year, though.”

Benji wipes sweaty palms on the sides of his thighs. “And what does that look like for you?”

“Probably sleeping in, then killing a bottle of bourbon while shitty Christmas movies play in the background all day.”

“Alone?” Benji asks.

Victor looks at him, his eyes a little wide, a little sad. “Well, yeah. It’s not so bad. Everything has been so busy, so it’ll be nice to have a day to myself.”

“Yeah, that’s fair. Well, uh, enjoy that. Maybe I’ll see you in the new year. There’s typically a little boost in business around week three of January. People abandoning their resolutions and whatnot.”

Victor laughs, a full body motion. His glasses slide down his nose a bit. “That’s pretty hilarious. Who knows, maybe next year will be a ‘fuck it’ kind of year,” he says, then winces and looks around. “Sorry, I try not to swear in the office so when I’m out in the real world…”

“All good,” Benji says. “Pretty sure I let a couple of those slip daily. The fun customers know what’s up.”

“Yeah,” Victor says, and he’s hesitating again, but he rotates to look at the door and the snow drifting through the air outside and Benji can tell he’s looking for a way out of the conversation.

 _Damn it_. “Get home safe,” Benji says just to fill the silence. “Conditions are still pretty bad from the other day.”

“The subways are pretty safe, but I appreciate it. I’ll, uh…I’ll see you, Benji,” Victor says. With one final pause, Victor whips around and heads for the door. He pauses on the handle, turns slightly, as if to say something, but then the bell sounds and he’s gone.

Now, all Benji can do is wait and try not to hope too hard.

* * *

Victor sits on the subway, head resting against the glass behind him. The vibration of the train knocks the back of his skull against the window over and over, which will probably bruise by morning.

He’d been so _stupid._ And cowardly. The plan had been to ask Benji out, not come home with another whole box of cookies and more self-loathing than he’d thought possible.

Taking a deep breath, he tries to talk himself down, slow his heartbeat. It’s been years, _years_ , since he did anything like this. He’s off his game, that’s all. Maybe after some time to recalibrate and actually letting this whole ‘doing things for himself’ idea sink in, he’ll try again. There are other guys. It’s New York fucking City, after all.

But there’s no way he can go back to that bakery, not after blowing it the way he did. When he pictures Benji’s face, all he feels is shame, defeat. And to go back at this point would just be too awkward. If Benji _were_ interested, he’s probably wondering right now why Victor didn’t fucking do anything about it.

Almost as much as Victor is wondering why _Benji_ didn’t do anything about it. So now he’s spiraling, wondering if he’s misinterpreted everything, if he’s just been stupid and naive and deluded by this sudden shift in his mindset.

The box glows with heat on his thighs, and as much as he wants to wait until he gets home to enjoy, he also doesn’t want to lose that fresh baked warmth. So he runs his thumb beneath the sticker, tearing it carefully. Victor stares at a flickering overhead light as he reaches into the box and picks up a cookie.

He takes a bite and his eyes roll to the back of his head. He’s in public, surrounded by commuters, so he suppresses the moan that otherwise would have rung out. This might be the best cookie he’s had from The Sweet Spot yet. The layer of white chocolate on the top perfectly balances the slight bitterness from the coffee, all of it underscored by the sweet, buttery flavor of the shortbread.

Victor leans back as he chews, trying to savor the bite as much as he can. He’s really not sure what he’s going to do with all of these cookies; there’s still half a box of vegan chocolate chip sitting on his counter. Maybe if he rations them well, they can last until the end of the year, and then he can go back to eating chicken breasts and broccoli and rice for every meal.

With a sigh, he looks down at the cookie. And he almost chokes as he swallows down his first bite.

Across the hardened white chocolate are six dark numbers, small and delicate, piped with expert precision. And there should be four more, but they’re already on their way to Victor’s stomach to be digested.

 _You’ve got to be fucking kidding me_. He leans back again, his head knocking against the window with a _clunk_. Benji gave him his number, and he fucking _ate_ the last four digits.

He takes a moment to compose himself. It’s whatever. After that train wreck of a conversation, Benji probably wouldn’t answer if Victor called him anyway. Maybe it’s better this way, if they just go their separate ways and pretend this chance encounter never happened.

Victor takes another bite, chomping down on the middle three digits and hoping that next year could be better.

* * *

The electric fireplace is on. Benji’s curled up on the couch, a mug of red wine hot chocolate in his hands, phone in his lap. He’s been sitting here since he got home, the room dark aside from the warm flicker of the faux fire.

Victor hasn’t called. Or texted. Or anything. It’s been hours, but nothing. And Benji doesn’t want to be mad at Mia, or even Victor, but he’s mad at both of them. He’s mad at Mia for pushing him to do something good for himself, he’s mad at Victor for leading him on like this.

Mostly, though, he’s furious at himself for letting the inaction of a total stranger weigh so heavily on him. He takes a sip of his drink, the liquid almost burning his lips. It feels good going down.

He’s been staring at his phone on and off all evening, Phoebe Bridgers’ version of “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” on repeat all the while.

 _Make the yuletide gay_ , she insists. _I tried_ , he thinks.

But as the hour gets late, Benji starts to come to terms with the fact that that nothing is going to happen with Victor. And why would it? Why would this year of strife and struggle end with anything but? Plus, Christmas is in a week. This isn’t the right time to be starting something with someone, especially not given Benji’s complex emotional state and the baggage he’s carrying around with him. And this isn’t pretty baggage, not the kind he can hide away, wrap up with a bow and present on Christmas morning under the glow of string lights.

So maybe it’s best that nothing works out. Maybe, in the end, that means things have worked out after all.

_Someday soon we all will be together, if the fates allow_

_Until then we’ll have to muddle through somehow_

Benji sighs and clicks the fireplace off, planted on the couch as the light dims to black. A sort of navy glow pours in from outside. The snow’s picked up again; it’s one of the longest snowstorms NYC has seen in a number of years, and such a weird mix of thick, heavy snow and light, airy flakes. Benji tosses back the last bit of his beverage and rises. He washes the mug and checks his phone one last time, stupidly. Still nothing. Why would there be anything?

 _Maybe next year_.

He crawls into bed and the gentle patter of snow against his window sends him off to sleep.

* * *

Victor wakes up to his phone buzzing wildly on his nightstand. He cracks open his eyes, groggy, his head pounding.

He feels like shit. The previous night, he’d gotten drunk alone and eaten too many cookies. He’d forgotten how freeing it can be to let loose once in a while, but how easy it can be to make way for bodily desires like that. It’s an easy trap to fall into, and one he severely hopes won’t become a trend.

With a grunt, he gropes around for his phone, eyes still adjusting to the light.

He doesn’t bother to check the caller ID. “Hello?” he mumbles, his voice muffled because his face is in his pillow.

“Are you just waking up? What the hell happened to you?” Karina asks.

“Hi, K,” he says. “I took the rest of the week off. Finally cashing in vacation days.”

She pauses. “That makes sense. Have you heard?”

“Heard what?”

“The promotion, Vic. He gave it to Cal.”

Victor sits up, suddenly alert. “Calvin? He gave it to fucking _Calvin_?” At the moment he doesn’t have the emotional bandwidth to deal with his own defeat. Currently, he’s more angry that it’s gone to Calvin. “But Calvin’s a _pig_.”

“And that’s probably why he got it. Just like I told you.”

He scoffs and throws himself back down in bed. “It never mattered, did it? There was nothing I would’ve been able to do?”

Karina is uncharacteristically quiet.

“Thanks for telling me,” Victor says, taking in a deep breath through his nose.

“Yeah. I figured it might not be as shitty if it came from me. Are you…are you okay?”

Victor does a diagnostic. His limbs are all still attached, his heart is beating. He’s warm in bed, and though he’s hungover and his stomach is doing some undesirable grumbling and sloshing, he’s in relatively good health. The world hasn’t ended. It’s still snowing outside.

“Yeah, K. I think I’m gonna be all right.”

She exhales, her relief apparent. “Thank god. I was worried you might go into full crisis mode and do something stupid.”

Victor sits up again, pushing his hand into one of his eyes. “Actually, I think doing something stupid might still be on the table today.”

“Uh. What does that mean?”

“Don’t worry about it. Look, I’ll probably be back for a couple of days between Christmas and New Year’s Eve. Talk then?”

“Victor…” She pauses. “Yeah, yeah, that’s fine. Just—please take care of yourself, okay? I know how hard you’ve been working. I think this time off will probably do you some good, even though it means I’m surrounded by nothing but white people.”

Victor laughs. “Well, maybe you should consider taking some time off yourself. It’s pretty great,” he says, as if this is some kind of profound revelation. “Thanks again, K. If I don’t talk to you beforehand, Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Vic. Take care.”

Once she hangs up, Victor flops down on his back, head bouncing off his pillow.

He didn’t get the promotion. Calvin got the promotion. An entire year of busting his ass, trying to stand out, just…gone. Nothing to show for it except bags under his eyes and a perfect, spotless, lifeless apartment.

Victor cries for a moment. He’s ashamed of it, ashamed that he’s wasted so many years of his young adult life with his nose buried in books, eyes glued to a screen. No social life, no close friends, no good memories to look back on. Empty picture frames, blank walls.

And then his tears turn into laughter. It’s all just so ridiculous. Sure, his priorities have been fucked six ways to Sunday for the last couple of years, but he’s still young. It’s not too late to change things, to do something with his life that isn’t just about income or “success,” whatever the fuck that even really is.

He thinks that if he ends next year with some friends, maybe even a partner, that will be the best success he could ask for.

But is this the time to start?

* * *

The wind is absolutely bitter today.

It bites at Benji’s face as he fumbles with his key ring, trying his best to keep the door shut against the gusts. The sun has already gone most of the way down, the streets covered in white, strings of lights twinkling off the snow. Benji has to stop and appreciate the wreaths hanging from street lights, the red bows whipping around in the freezing gales.

He wraps his coat tighter around himself. Today was the hardest day he’s had in weeks.

It started with a minor breakdown to Mia after Benji accidentally ruined a batch of donuts, which was a tipping point of sorts. He explained to her how he’d waited up for _hours_ the previous night, waiting for Victor to call, how he’ll probably never pursue a man again because all they ever do is let him down.

Mia had laughed at this, told him that he was just saying that, that he didn’t really mean it. Maybe she was right. But for now, he’s done. He can’t handle the way that hope crashes into a million tiny shards when he allows it to sit up high in his hands only to fall.

It reminds him of a particularly challenging course he’d taken in culinary school: sugar decorating. For his final project he’d been sculpting a palace out of pure sugar, and about halfway through there was a tragically late night when Benji knocked one of the spires from the structure. It plummeted to the floor, almost in slow motion, and the hardened sugar had exploded like a crystal ball. People don’t often think about how sharp sugar can get, but a tiny scar on Benji’s right sole had taught him that lesson, as well as reenforced the idea that you should _never_ cook barefoot.

Benji is thinking about this as he finally gets the key into the lock, turning it with a satisfying click. Pedestrians bustle past behind him, other poor souls who are forced to brave the winds for one reason or another.

And then, just like that, the wind stops. Benji hadn’t even realized how loud the howling was until he’s confronted with a muted silence, a gentle, fluffy kind of emptiness. He shakes his head back and forth violently, dislodging a snowball’s worth of flakes, then turns to walk back to his apartment.

He stops in his tracks. Victor is speed walking down the sidewalk, right toward Benji. Five feet away, Victor’s fashionably-clad foot hits a slippery patch and he stumbles; before he can think about it, Benji rushes forward and catches him, arms around Victor’s waist.

“Um. Thank you,” Victor says, the words coming out in a big puff of visible breath.

Once he’s sure Victor is stable, Benji releases and takes a step back. “Yeah, of course. I—what are you doing here?”

Victor swallows, holds out his hands for a second, then squeezes his eyes shut and nods. “Okay. So I took a bite of that cookie before I actually looked at it and accidentally ate half of your phone number, and then I started freaking out and wondering if you thought I was a huge idiot because I didn’t make a move yesterday, which is only because I haven’t done this in so fucking long and I have no clue what I’m doing and all day today I went back and forth about whether or not I should come see you because I found out the promotion fell through and everything is a mess and the last thing I want to do is pull you into that and—”

Benji cuts Victor off, pushing him gently against the wall of the bakery and pressing a kiss to his lips.

Victor makes a surprised little sound in the back of his throat, then relaxes and kisses him back. His lips are cold but soft, and Benji might be imagining things, but he swears he can taste coffee shortbread cookies.

He pulls away, teeth catching on his bottom lip. His hands are splayed against Victor’s chest, raw and red, fat flakes of silent snow landing directly on his skin. “Um. Sorry. I’ve wanted to do that since the first time you walked into the bakery.”

“No, yeah,” Victor breathes. Benji looks up at him and he looks a bit dazed, a bit sublime. “Me, too. I just…I don’t know, I think I was unsure about whether or not you were actually gay.”

Benji laughs and leans forward, resting his forehead against Victor’s sternum. “I own a queer bakery.”

“Yeah, I see now how stupid that was.”

“To be fair, I wasn’t sure either. I couldn’t tell if you were flirting or just awkward. Or both.”

Victor brushes Benji’s hair away from his forehead. “Both. It’s definitely both.”

“Plus, when you told me you’re an accountant, I thought there was no way. Gay people can’t do math.”

“Hey, I’ll have you know I’m an incredible accountant.” Victor sighs. “Not good enough to get promoted, of course, but still damn good.”

Benji nods and licks his lips. “I believe you. Hey, I know it’s freezing, but the wind’s died down a bit. Would you want to go for a walk, maybe? Look at the lights?”

“Sure,” Victor says, smiling down at Benji, his face resplendent in the glow from the nearest streetlight. “I would like that. I wish I’d brought gloves, though. My hands get really dry when they’re cold.”

Benji tilts his head. “Well, I could…I could hold your hand, if you want. I’ve been told I have unusually warm hands. Maybe it’s a baker thing,” he adds with a chuckle.

Without another word, Victor leans down and kisses Benji again. It’s a slow kiss, a frozen flake drifting lazily from the clouds down to the earth, but it’s sweet and it’s patient and it feels like someone is pressing hope between Benji’s lips; he comes away with expectation between his teeth and warmth in his cheeks.

Victor takes Benji’s right hand in his left and they stroll down the sidewalk, the twinkle of Christmas lights guiding their way.

* * *

**_6 Days Later_ **

Benji knocks on the door, shaking in his literal boots. While the snow did finally stop the day after their first date, the streets of NYC have been covered in increasingly disgusting slush, which meant breaking out his snow boots to trek up to Victor’s apartment in Hell’s Kitchen.

The building is sleek, modern. Expensive, surely. He looks around at the stark cleanliness of the hallway as footsteps approach the door.

When it swings open, Victor is standing on the other side, grinning. He’s wearing a maroon sweater over a pair of gray joggers, his feet bare.

“Hi,” he says.

Benji grins. “Hey.” He knocks any remaining snow off his boots as he steps into Victor’s apartment, hoping he’s managed to keep it all on the mat. Before he can even take them off, Victor closes the door and pushes Benji against it. He kisses him fiercely and Benji drinks in the feeling of it, the warmth Victor’s lips send through his body, the subtle smell of cologne, a candle burning somewhere in the apartment. There’s a warmth and a light at Victor’s place, something Benji isn’t used to in his own apartment. Something about it feels like home, somehow.

Finally, he grunts and gives Victor a little push. “Can I at least take my coat off first?” he teases.

“Sorry,” Victor says and takes a step back, clasping his hands together. “It’s been a long time since I was able to just kiss someone like that. I kinda missed having the option.”

Benji flutters his lips. “Please, you always had the option. With your face and body? Open Grindr and there are ten guys in a close radius who would kiss you and more.”

“But they wouldn’t kiss me like _that_ ,” Victor counters.

He knows Victor’s right. Though they’ve only known each other a little over a week, he can’t deny that there’s a pull, an instant connection.

Which is why they’ve decided to tell caution to “fuck off.” It’s Christmas Eve and they’re spending it together, and they have plans to go out together at some point tomorrow as well. Benji hasn’t felt this excited to spend time with someone since…Well, he’s not letting himself do that anymore. But it’s been a long time, and the fact that this desire is mutual only bolsters it.

“So, what’s the plan?” Victor asks. As Benji removes his coat, Victor takes it and hangs it on his coatrack, then wraps his arms around Benji’s waist. “I’ve got wine, and I bought all of the ingredients you asked me to.”

Benji smirks, then tucks his head into the space between Victor’s jaw and shoulder. “Perfect. You’ve passed your first Christmas mission.”

“Are there more?”

He laughs, Victor’s voice rumbling through his body. “Two more, actually. One will be to let me coach you through a batch of vegan chocolate chip cookies.”

“I think I can handle that. What’s the other?”

Benji swallows, then wraps himself tighter around Victor. “Just hold me for a second.”

“Oh,” Victor whispers, a note of surprise in his tone. But he goes quiet and pulls Benji closer, and Benji closes his eyes and tries to drink in this moment, even though he has a strange feeling there will be more and more and more just like it, moments that repeat until the end of time, somehow getting better and better with every iteration.

They sway slightly as they stand in the entrance to Victor’s apartment. In the silence, Benji can hear quiet Christmas music crooning from the kitchen, Ella Fitzgerald’s voice lilting through a rendition of “What Are You Doing New Year’s Eve?” He chuckles to himself, wondering if this is Victor’s not-so-subtle way of asking Benji his plans for that holiday as well, but he doesn’t say anything.

Finally, Benji pulls away. Victor kisses him on the cheek, then holds out a hand and leads him to the kitchen. He laughs when he sees all of the ingredients lined up on the kitchen island in order of height, a large bottle of red wine leading the pack.

“It’s all very organized,” he says and steps up to the counter.

Victor gives Benji’s bottom a little swat. “It may look that way, but I’m not sure how effective this organization will actually be for our purposes. All of the wet ingredients are mixed in with the dry. It just looks nice.”

“Hm. Sometimes it’s enough for something to be pleasing to the eye.”

“Ah, like me,” Victor says.

Benji swivels around and glares at him. “I don’t wanna hear that kind of talk from you. We both know you’re much more than that.” He steps forward and quickly kisses Victor. “But you’re not bad to look at, either.”

“Do you know how badly I want to just drag you into that bedroom and—”

“Ah!” Benji says, pressing a finger against Victor’s lips. “We have important business to handle first. But I’m sure we’ll need a way to pass the time while they’re in the oven…” He kisses Victor again, a little sloppily, and then bites Victor’s bottom lip as he pulls away. Just for good measure.

“You’re evil.”

“No, I just know how to prioritize,” Benji says, patting Victor’s cheek twice and turning back to the ingredients. “Now, let’s get started!”

Benji wastes no time, instructing Victor to preheat the oven, informing him how many bowls, spoons, other utensils they’ll need. He doesn’t touch a single ingredient as he guides Victor through it—this proves to be incredibly difficult, as Benji is painstaking about the products at the bakery and is still only just learning to trust Mia to do things correctly (which she always does, she won’t hesitate to remind him). Though Victor struggles, Benji can also tell that he’s really trying as hard as he can and, even more importantly, that he’s having a good time.

Halfway through the process of measuring out the dry ingredients, Victor gets a bit over enthusiastic with his pouring and a cloud of flour puffs up into his face. Benji bites his knuckles, trying not to laugh at the mishap, and Victor turns to him, blinking white powder out of his gorgeous lashes. “Oh, that’s funny to you?” he asks. When Benji just nods, Victor reaches into the bag of flour and tosses a handful at Benji, who cries out and runs around the island. He hops forward, grabs a handful of flour himself and tosses it at Victor, who makes a weak attempt at blocking it and only ends up with a giant patch of powder on his sweater.

Benji is outmatched when Victor runs after him, his long legs carrying him too fast for Benji to outrun. Victor catches Benji from behind and grabs him around the middle, pulling him in and rubbing off all the flour from his sweater on Benji’s back. Benji wriggles free, his eyes tearing from laughing so hard, and they both break into hysterics when they see the mess they’ve made.

After a quick clean-up, Victor offers Benji a change of clothes and changes himself, putting on a nearly identical sweater and pair of joggers. “What?” he asks when Benji giggles at him. “I know what I like, okay?” They get back to the baking, Benji coaching Victor from the sidelines until they have a perfect dough.

Finally, the cookies are in lines on a large cookie sheet. Victor insists he hadn’t bought it just for this date, but when Benji picks it up there’s a label still affixed to the underside. This sends him into yet another laughing fit; Victor watches the whole time, the sleeves of his sweater rolled up to his elbows, cookie dough on his hands and a mixture of embarrassment, resignation, and amusement on his face.

Once in the oven, Victor seems to change his mind about his previous wish. He pours them both a large glass of wine and leads Benji to the couch. Flipping on his television, he finds a channel with a yule log and leaves it like that, holiday tunes still drifting in softly from the kitchen as the smell of cookies starts to fill the space.

Benji curls up against Victor, running a finger up and down the stitching of his sweater. “I’m really glad we’re doing this,” he says. Victor’s clothes are a bit big on him, but he likes the way the sleeves of this navy sweatshirt come down over his hands.

“Yeah, me too,” Victor murmurs in reply. “You know, we have my friend Karina to thank.”

With a small frown, Benji twists his neck to look up at Victor. “What do you mean?”

“Okay, so, funny story,” Victor says with a self conscious little chuckle. “She was the person who sent me to the bakery in the first place. For you, specifically.”

“For me?” Benji echoes. He sits up and reaches for his glass of wine.

“Yeah. She thought you were cute and that we might…hit it off or something, I don’t know.”

Benji takes a large sip of wine then sets it down. “Well, I mean, she was right, sort of.”

“It took me two extraneous trips and a number-cookie-related mishap to finally get there, but yeah.”

“Was the party fake?” Benji asks, emboldened by the alcohol and the candidness of the moment. “The second one, I mean.”

Victor leans forward and collapses into Benji’s lap, his shoulders shaking from laughter. “Yes, I made that up,” he says. “Was it that obvious?”

“I wasn’t so sure, but my friend Mia was _positive_. Dammit, I hate that she’s right every time.”

Victor sits up, laughter still on his lips. “Sounds like we both have a meddling female friend.”

“Yeah, and it sounds like we’d both be pretty hopeless without them.”

“I’ll be sure to do something nice for Karina next time I see her. For now, though, I just want to focus on you.”

Benji takes another quick gulp of wine and then situates himself against Victor’s body again. “I feel really comfortable with you,” he says. “I hope you don’t mind me being so forward about it.”

“Not at all. I don’t know if I even have it in me to play games at this point in my life. I’m, uh, sort of an all-or-nothing kind of guy.”

With a hum, Benji considers those words. “So then what are you looking for here?” he asks, hoping the question doesn’t completely ruin the mood.

“I’m not really sure, to be honest,” Victor says. “I’ve never been in a serious adult relationship, so I have no idea what I’m doing. That’s probably become pretty clear, though,” he says with a puff of laughter through his nose.

Benji shakes his head. “I wouldn’t have guessed. Honestly, I wouldn’t.”

It’s odd how much depth there is to a person. They’ve spent together almost every day for the past week since things came to a head outside the bakery, and Benji is still learning surface-level things about Victor’s romantic life.

“Well, it’s the truth.”

“I just got out of a really long relationship a few months back,” Benji says. He plays with the strings of Victor’s joggers as he speaks. “It was just about three years long altogether and it ended pretty suddenly.”

“Oh,” Victor says. He absently runs a hand through Benji’s hair, the fire crackling through the screen beside them.

“You’re the first person I’ve…well, done _anything_ with since him. And I thought I would be really scared, or that it somehow wouldn’t live up to what we had, but. I don’t know. There’s just something about you. That tip you left me…I don’t think you realize how much that meant. To be completely honest, the bakery has been struggling for a while.” He sighs, snuggling into Victor’s touch. “So it really meant a lot. That was the moment I was fucked I think.”

Victor kisses the crown of Benji’s head. “I’m so sorry to hear that. Maybe next year will be better?”

“That’s what Mia keeps saying. We’re _manifesting_ ,” Benji says with a snort.

“We can take things as slow as you want, you know. I’m totally fine with that. I feel like everything is a little weird around the holidays and I don’t want to rush things because we’re high on Christmas spirit.”

Benji laughs, a joy deep in his gut. “I think I like that idea.”

“Yeah, me too. I…I just realized something,” Victor whispers.

“What?” Benji whispers back.

There’s a pause. “This is the first year in so long that I’ll have a New Year’s resolution I actually care about.”

“And what’s that?” Benji asks, wine sweet and dark on his tongue.

Victor pushes Benji away for a second, then readjusts so they’re facing each other. “You,” he says, then cups Benji’s face and pulls him in for a kiss.

Benji fights an errant swell of odd emotion as he kisses Victor, deeply, pushing him onto his back and climbing on top of him. The air is warm, dry, the apartment smells like nostalgia and possibility, and as much as Benji wants to take things slow Victor’s lips feel so good against his, against his cheeks, his neck, his collarbone—

The oven timer goes off, beeps piercing through the gentle ambiance.

Victor laughs and Benji collapses against him. “That’s the universe telling us to calm down, I think,” Benji grumbles.

“Maybe. We’d better get up. The last thing I want is to burn my incredible cookies.”

Benji pushes off the couch and pulls Victor up to his feet. He kisses him once more, pressing up onto his toes to reach. “I have a question,” he says softly.

“Mm?”

“Can I…Can I stay here tonight?” he asks, eyes on Victor’s chest. “We don’t have to do anything, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to leave. The thought of not waking up next to you on Christmas morning just feels…”

“Wrong. Yeah,” Victor agrees. “I’d like that. A lot. I don’t want you to leave, either.”

Benji rests his head over Victor’s ribcage, the quick heartbeat beneath nearly in perfect sync with his own. “Okay. Good. Glad we’re on the same page,” he says with a relieved chuckle. “We should probably go get those cookies now,” he murmurs, the timer still beeping.

“The cookies can wait,” Victor whispers, one hand on the back of Benji’s head. “We can always make another batch. Right now, I’d rather just be right here.”

They stand in front of the couch and hold each other, the future sounding to the tempo of a cookie timer.


	2. epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here it is, a very fluffy and cheesy conclusion to what was SUPPOSED to be nothing but fluff and ended up being a bit angsty. It's what y'all deserve for putting up with my inability to just write a damn happy story LMAO. Enjoy! <3

**_1 Year Later_ **

“Are you sure about this?” Benji asks. They’re planted on the couch, Victor’s body draped across Benji’s, half awake.

Victor’s lashes flutter open. “Hm? Yes, I’m sure. We did Christmas with my family already. Tonight should be just us. Are _you_ sure about this?”

Benji laughs. “It’s only six and you’re already falling asleep. I’m sure you can understand why I have my reservations.”

With a stretch, Victor pushes his hand into Benji’s face. “Do you want me to make it too midnight or not? It’s just a little catnap.”

“And do I have to be involved?”

“Of course. You know I sleep best when you’re with me.”

Benji does know that this is true. In the year they’ve been together, Victor posits that he’s slept more than the past five years altogether. And it’s _good_ sleep too, the kind into which they sink in tandem, breathing synced, skin on skin and no fear of what may come. Peace and comfort.

And good thing, too, because it’s been a crazy year for both of them.

For Victor, it started with quitting his job. Well, to be more exact, it started with a week long romp in his apartment, during which Benji rarely even left the building. It was magical and sensual and the best sex Benji’d had in his life, and even better, between all of the sex they talked. Oh, they _talked_. And they told each other everything, months and years of stories piling up between them until they shook out the sheets just so they could have sex again and then start the whole process over.

Benji had never been sold on the idea of love at first sight, but after only half a month with being Victor, he just _knew_. It was something rooted, bone-deep, inescapable.

Witnessing Victor call his boss and tell him off before dramatically quitting was really just the cherry on top of all of it. Now _that_ was a good day. Victor had been full of adrenaline and emotion and they’d gone back and forth between the bedroom and the kitchen and the living room and talked, cuddled, made love, cooked, connected. Stuck. They stuck.

Maybe it was the germination of love that gave Benji the courage to suggest it, but a few days after Victor had quit, he asked if he might join The Sweet Spot and help out with financials. Benji _hated_ math, and because they were in a slump anyway he figured Victor would be able to handle jumping in with just a small amount of guidance form Benji.

Victor accepted the offer on the condition that if he found another job he would take a step back. Benji felt this was perfectly fair and they had a deal.

Little did either of them know that an extremely influential social media celebrity would stop into The Sweet Spot in late January and post about the variety of pride flag cookies all over her socials. Sure, the purpose was her own coming out, but it did wonders for the bakery. By February, business has more than quadrupled and then doubled again by March. Benji found himself in need of another employee and Victor offered to work the counter in addition to doing the books, and as it turns out, Benji, Victor, and Mia actually work incredibly well as a trio. With occasional help from Lake, Mia’s girlfriend, they got the bakery whipped into shape, and by the summer it was clear that things had taken a lasting turn for the better.

An added side effect of this is Benji’s ability to close the bakery from Christmas to New Year’s Day, sad to deprive his customers of baked goods in the meantime but over the moon that the financial situation allows for it. Plus, the boom in the two weeks prior to Christmas had been _massive_ when customers found out they would be closed.

“What’s up?” Victor asks. He seems wide awake suddenly.

Benji shrugs and runs a hand up and down Victor’s back. “Just thinking. This has been a weird fucking year.”

“Yeah,” Victor agrees with a laugh. “That’s an understatement. But good weird.”

“Good weird for sure. I thought coming out of last year that things were just going to get worse, and now I just feel lucky that things worked out the way they did. It’s kinda insane.”

Victor hums and shifts his body so his head is on Benji’s chest. “I feel the same. This year could’ve been the worst of my life. But it’s been the best.”

“Oh, come on, the _best_?” Benji teases. “What about when you were a sophomore in college and you accidentally scammed your school into giving you free tuition? You were a _king_ on campus.”

Victor’s laugh resonates in Benji’s ribs, a sound Benji knows he’ll be spending a lifetime trying to decipher, trying to boil down and incorporate in his baking, in his everything. “That’s an oversimplification. Plus that was also the year I broke my wrist smacking a stop sign while I was drunk.”

“Duality,” Benji murmurs, kissing Victor’s forehead. “Oh! Hey, I forgot, I have a gift for you.”

“What?” Victor asks. He frowns and sits up. “Christmas was last week, B.”

Benji pushes off the couch and shimmies behind their tree in their shared apartment. At the end of the summer, Victor found a beautiful place for them in Soho, tired of going back and forth between their homes. Not that they’d even discussed moving in together before Victor proposed the plan, but as soon as Benji saw pictures of the apartment, it just seemed like a no-brainer. There hasn’t been one second he’s regretted the decision.

He reaches to the very back of the tree and plucks an envelope from one of the branches, almost falling into the corner in the process but emerging with the gift in hand and some pine needles in his hair.

Victor stands and brushes the needles away, then kisses Benji. “What did you do?”

“It’s small, I promise,” Benji says as he places the envelope in Victor’s hand. “Consider it your Christmas bonus.”

“Ha ha,” Victor says. He rolls his eyes as he carefully tears into the envelope—Benji loves to remind Victor that he’s technically his boss now (though he’s already started thinking of the bakery as not _his_ , but _theirs_ ), which drives Victor a little wild.

Benji notices that Victor’s hand are shaking a bit as he pulls his finger through the flap and removes the contents of the envelope, but he decides not to comment on it. Victor takes a deep breath and unfolds the card, a generic and unassuming card Benji had picked up from the corner store. What’s inside is more important.

There’s a moment of confusion and amusement. Victor holds up a 20-dollar bill between two fingers, twisting his hand back and forth to study the whole thing. “Benji, I don’t—” And then the realization hits him and the card falls out of his other hand, which flies to his mouth as he gasps. “You didn’t.”

“I did,” Benji says, giddy that Victor remembers.

“This is the _exact_ twenty I tipped you with the day we met?”

Benji nods. “That’s the one.”

“Benji,” Victor says, shaking his head. “I’m framing this.”

A laugh bubbles out of Benji and he steps forward, pushing up on his toes and pressing his lips to Victor’s. Smiling, Victor kisses him back, gently cradling Benji’s face in his free hand.

“It was a turning point,” Benji says when he pulls away, face flushed. A year later and even just kissing Victor still does that to him. “And it does represent that the bakery is doing well now, partially thanks to you. But it also just reminds me of where we came from, how far we’ve come since this time last year.”

“Yeah,” Victor breaths, a tear jumping from the tip of his nose.

Benji chuckles and wipes away another. “I hope this is good crying.”

“God,” Victor says, releasing something between a sob and a laugh. “This is the _best_ kind of crying. I have something for you, too.”

“Oh?” Benji asks.

Before Victor can respond, he’s out of the room. Benji can hear him rummaging around in the kitchen, and seconds later he returns with a chocolate cupcake in each hand.

“You’re kidding,” Benji says. “You baked?”

“I baked,” Victor says with pride. Benji’s been trying to teach Victor the ins and outs, and while Victor is a rather good chef in a lot of other areas, he’s always struggled a bit with baking. It’s odd, since baking is such a precise art and Victor’s whole thing is numbers, so Benji’s been patient in trying to indoctrinate his boyfriend.

Victor hands him the cupcake and sits down on the couch. “I was planning to wait to eat these until after the ball dropped later, but I don’t want to wait.”

“What do you mean? Victor,” Benji says, narrowing his eyes, “did you bake weed cupcakes in my kitchen?”

With a snort, Victor shakes his head. “ _Our_ kitchen, love. And no, nothing like that. There’s a special filling, though.”

Benji studies the cupcake, impressed. The frosting is a bit on the thin side but not so much that it’s sliding off the top, and the cake seems to be moist and springy. He’s made worse cupcakes for sure.

He notices that Victor is studying him, anticipation obvious on his face. “Are you really that excited about me trying your baking?”

Victor smiles, though there’s a small amount of panic behind his eyes. “Um. Uh huh!”

“Okay,” Benji says with a nervous chuckle. He gives Victor an encouraging smile before taking a big bite, teeth sinking through the spongey cake.

 _Oh no_. There’s supposed to be a filling, and though the cupcake isn’t dry, there’s definitely no filling.

And then Benji’s teeth catch on something _hard_ , something that probably was not supposed to be there.

“Um, babe,” he says, holding up a hand to cover his face as he talks with his mouth full. “There’s…something?”

Victor’s eyes go wide. “Oops. Sorry. Um, spit that out,” he says, cupping his hands in front of Benji’s face.

“What?” Benji asks, laughing incredulously.

“Spit it out,” Victor insists, and because Benji knows how disgusting it will be when he spits out a chocolatey mess into Victor’s hands, he just spits it out into his own instead.

He can’t quite tell what it is that he bit down on, but before he can get a better look Victor snatches it out of his hand and runs back toward the kitchen.

“I— _Victor_ , what the hell are you doing?” Benji calls after him. There’s no response, only the sound of the sink running.

Benji scratches his head, then reaches for the tissue box that’s nearby to wipe his palm clean of the leftover mess.

The sink turns off. From the other room, Victor takes a deep breath. Suddenly Benji’s heart is racing and he doesn’t know why, or he does know why but that would be crazy so he can’t even let his mind go there.

And then Victor is coming back in from the kitchen, a terse smile sewn across his lips.

“Babe, what’s going on? What did I almost just eat?”

Victor comes up to the couch. Instead of sitting, he kneels in front of Benji.

“Victor,” Benji gasps. Victor holds out one hand, a ring sitting in his palm.

“Benjamin Campbell,” Victor starts, his eyes already teary. “You probably think I’m crazy right now. I feel a little crazy. I always feel that way with you, like I might be losing it a little bit, because it doesn’t make sense how a person can become so important, so necessary to me in such a short period of time.”

Benji gulps, tears pushing out the corners of his eyes.

“But I have _never_ in my life felt so sure about something. You saved me from myself. It wasn’t until I met you that I realized how unhappy I was, how I was forcing myself to be a person that even my closest friends stopped recognizing. And then I stepped into your bakery and it was like something shifted, something fundamental just turned on its side and I realized, Oh, life can be more than this. Life can be good. Life can be happy, and it can be complicated and challenging and messy, but all of that can be worthwhile when you have someone as loving and kind as you to share it with. Every moment with you is a dream, Benji. And all I want right now is for you to agree to keep dreaming with me.”

Victor finishes and Benji covers his face with his hands, his body trembling. He takes in a big breath and pulls his hands away, smiling, crying, and he nods, he reaches out and takes Victor’s face in his hands.

“Of course I will, Victor. Yes, yes, yes,” he repeats, he chants, and then Victor is crying with him, suddenly up on the couch, kissing Benji, one hand pressing the ring against his sternum, the other behind his head.

An eternity packed into this kiss, the first eternity of many, and when Benji pulls away he rests his forehead against Victor’s. He laughs, a watery, complicated kind of laugh. “You baked my engagement ring into a cupcake.”

“I’ve had better ideas,” Victor whispers. “I was so afraid that you were proposing earlier with that envelope.”

“No, I don’t think I’m impulsive enough for that.” More laughter, high and stained with emotion. “I love you so much, Victor Salazar. You are, without a doubt, the best thing to ever happen to me.”

“I would say the same about you, but…pancakes.”

Benji smacks Victor’s chest. “Put the damn ring on my finger.”

“Right, right,” Victor says, chuckling and sniffling as he slides the simple silver band onto Benji’s index finger, his hands still shaking as he does. “Thank god it fits. I kept second guessing the measurements.”

“It’s perfect,” Benji murmurs, kissing Victor again. His lips are warm, welcoming, familiar. His lips are forever. “Is this why you were so insistent on doing New Year’s alone? I would’ve thought you’d want to flex the engagement.”

“I considered that, but I think revealing it will be exciting enough. I wanted the moment itself to be special. Just for us. Plus, I was afraid I would scrub my lines and ruin the whole thing.”

Benji laughs and Victor pulls him close, laying them down on the couch together, chest to chest, face to face. “That didn’t sound rehearsed.”

“That last part about dreams was new, not sure where it came from,” Victor admits with a grin.

Squeezing him tight, Benji burrows his face into Victor’s neck. “So. We’re engaged,” he mumbles against Victor’s skin.

“We are. Mami’s going to lose her mind.”

“Oh, god, she definitely is.”

“She’s been asking me when I was going to propose since July, you know.”

Benji giggles. “That makes sense. She always seems to know first, doesn’t she?”

“It’s a mom thing.”

Silence cuddles up beside them, the room still, trapped in time.

After a few minutes, Benji realizes that Victor’s fallen asleep, his breaths long and deep. He laughs to himself; Victor had warned him that a catnap might be in order, after all.

But even if they sleep through midnight, the official switchover, everything has already changed. Fuck the new year. They’re starting a new _life_ , and they’re doing it right, doing it on their own time.

Benji looks at his ring one last time before closing his eyes, leaving this dream just for a moment as he dozes beside Victor. He knows that nothing his sleeping brain conjures will ever compare to what’s already right beside him, what will always be there.

**Author's Note:**

> ;-; THEY ARE SO CUTE I'M SOFT. I hope you've enjoyed reading this and consider leaving a kudos and a comment!
> 
> (Also, this was part of our [Venji Holiday Fic Fest](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/venjiholidays2020), which is completely open for all to submit to! Check out [this post](https://venjificfests.tumblr.com/post/635094661246091264/venji-fic-fests-winter-holidays-2020-for-our) for more details, and come join our [LV fic lovers Discord server](https://discord.gg/w7WgXNJ) for more fic discussion!!)


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